Jin Wutu, transformed, walked alone through the remote mountains. After half a day, he arrived at a small mountain market in a desolate wilderness.

This small mountain market was a trading post in a chaotic world.

Displaced or fugitive tribal cultivators occasionally met here to exchange or trade goods with each other, and also…

Night rain fell like woven threads from above Qianxue Zhou, enveloping the entire city in a haze. Water dripped in lines from the eaves, tapping against the bluestone path, making a clear and cold sound. Beneath the newly built flying eaves of Zhen Ge, Lin Xiaoman, wearing a bamboo hat and holding an oiled paper umbrella, stood quietly before a stele. Rainwater slid down the umbrella ribs, forming small streams at her feet.

She gazed at the eight-character inscription: “Zhen Wen Changsheng, Wei Ai Busi.” The calligraphy was a rubbing left by Mohua himself, and though engraved by artisans, it still carried a touch of sloppiness and stubbornness, as if it were a hurried last testament written before his departure.

“Teacher…” she softly called, her voice almost swallowed by the rain, “Today is the one hundred and eighth day since you left.”

As her words fell, the wind suddenly stopped, and the rain slowed. Distant thunder rolled across the sky, like a response.

Lin Xiaoman took out a tattered bamboo slip from her怀. It was covered with burn marks and knife carvings, the fragmented “Jiushu Zhenjie” which Mohua had organized before his death. It was rumored that this book was a comprehensive masterpiece of ancient formation cultivators, capable of connecting the pulse of heaven and earth and reversing the cycle of life and death. But only Mohua truly understood it.

Now, this bamboo slip had become Zhen Ge’s most prized treasure, coveted by countless factions.

“Someone broke into the pavilion last night,” she murmured, her gaze unwavering. “Three black-clad figures, all wearing masks of the Underworld Lord’s former subordinates. They tried to steal the original formation diagrams you left behind.”

She paused, a slight smile gracing her lips: “I didn’t let them succeed. I used the ‘Fanshi Sandiezhen’ you taught me; when the third layer exploded, their souls were shattered.”

She spoke with a calm tone, as if merely recounting an ordinary lesson. Yet, a flicker of pain crossed her eyes.

Mohua once said: “Formations are not tools for killing, but vows of protection.” But now, she had to kill with formations, protecting the book with blood.

“I know you don’t like this,” she looked up at the sky, the rain wetting her cheeks. “But if I’m not ruthless, your hard work will be trampled upon. Those who covet changsheng… have never stopped looking for loopholes.”

The wind suddenly swirled, stirring the remaining incense ash before the stele. The ash spiraled upward, actually condensing into a blurry human figure in the air. A cyan robe fluttered, and the features were faintly discernible.

Lin Xiaoman’s breath hitched.

The figure did not speak, but slowly raised a hand, pointing north.

Then, it dissipated like smoke.

She stood stunned for a long time before murmuring, “Are you telling me to go there? Beiyuan…”

Beiyuan, located in the extremely cold northern lands, was rumored to hold the prototype of the first changsheng lamp, the “Shideng.” It was from there that Cheng Yanqiu brought back the flame, initiating the era of the Law Enforcement Hall. Later, Tu Xiansheng usurped power, sealing it beneath the ice abyss and setting up the “Jueling Dazhen” to cut off all investigations.

But now that the wheel of fate was closed, and the changsheng game ended, why would Mohua still guide her there?

She didn’t know the answer, but she knew she had to go.

Seven days later, Lin Xiaoman set off northward.

She was accompanied by only two others: a taciturn old servant named Chen, who had guarded scrolls in Mohua’s study; and a sword attendant sent by Su Mingxin, named Bailu, who wore a Han Shuang short sword at her waist and whose eyes were as sharp as blades.

The three traveled in a sail-less small boat, downriver and into the frozen river of the northern regions. The banks were steep, with snow covering the rocks. Occasionally, the roar of ice avalanches echoed, startling countless cold crows.

Along the way, old servant Chen always held a bronze casket, never letting it out of his sight. Bailu once tried to look inside but was coldly refused by him.

“That was the last thing Master entrusted to me,” old Chen’s voice was hoarse. “It cannot be opened until we reach the core of Beiyuan.”

Bailu frowned: “What’s inside?”

“I don’t know,” old Chen shook his head. “But I know that once it’s opened, it will attract all remaining ‘Dengnu’.”

“Dengnu?” Bailu was startled.

“Those cultivators who extended their lives with the changsheng lamp and are now rapidly aging,” Lin Xiaoman interjected, her gaze calm. “Many of them have long forgotten their original lifespan, believing eternal life was possible. Now, suddenly facing death, they will surely go mad. And the Shideng is their last hope.”

Bailu sneered: “Just a bunch of ants trying to defy fate.”

“But they were once powerful,” old Chen said in a low voice. “Some were Golden Core True Immortals, some were reclusive grandmasters, and there were even a few… old monsters who lived for over five hundred years. They have lurked in the darkness for too long; once they stir, they are enough to overturn half the cultivation world.”

The three fell silent.

They camped on a desolate beach, a bonfire burning. Lin Xiaoman took out the compass Mohua had left behind—a circular disk, neither gold nor jade, with the character “Zhen” engraved in the center. Its needle, however, always trembled slightly, as if sensing something.

“What is it responding to?” Bailu asked.

“It’s not responding, it’s warning,” Lin Xiaoman stared at the compass. “Someone is approaching us.”

No sooner had she spoken than a sound came from the distant snowy slope.

Immediately after, a black shadow swept through the air, moving so fast it almost ripped through the air!

Bailu drew her sword to meet it, her sword light like a ribbon, slashing at the incoming person’s throat. The opponent, however, did not dodge, letting the blade cut across their neck. Yet, no blood splattered; a black mist exploded, instantly filling the surroundings.

“Puppet!” Old Chen roared. “It’s a substitute talisman puppet! The real enemy is behind it!”

Indeed, a second figure swooped down from high above, wielding twin hooks, aiming directly for the compass in Lin Xiaoman’s hand!

Lin Xiaoman formed hand seals, and a miniature formation suddenly appeared on the ground beneath her feet. A flash of light created a shield. The twin hooks struck the barrier, emitting a harsh metallic screech, sparks flying.

“Wuxing Niliuzhen?!” The person exclaimed. “You actually mastered Mohua’s core techniques!”

Lin Xiaoman looked coldly at the person, whose face was withered, eyes sunken, and skin a bizarre bluish-gray, clearly having forcefully prolonged their life for many years and on the verge of collapse.

“Which line of Dengnu are you from?” she demanded sharply.

“Who I am doesn’t matter,” the person sneered. “What matters is that the Shideng is about to rekindle! As long as all twelve fragments of the Zangxing Tu are gathered, the remnant flame of the Shideng can be awakened, and the wheel of fate channel restarted! The compass in your hands is key to locating the last fragment!”

Lin Xiaoman’s heart jolted.

Zangxing Tu! Again, Zangxing Tu!

Previously, Su Mingxin had mentioned that her master, Cheng Yanqiu, had divided the complete Zangxing Tu into seven fragments, entrusting them to trustworthy individuals. But this person claimed there were twelve fragments? Could it be…

“You’re lying,” she said coldly. “There are only seven fragments of the Zangxing Tu.”

“Fool!” The person cackled. “Seven fragments are just the obvious ones! The true blueprint is hidden in the resonance of the earth’s veins when the seven stars align! Every time the sun and moon converge, and the stars reverse, a hidden map appears in the world! Why do you think Tu Xiansheng was so obsessed with observing celestial phenomena? Because he was also waiting for the twelfth fragment to appear!”

Lin Xiaoman’s pupils constricted slightly.

If this were true, then the anomaly Mohua saw before his death might have been a sign of the twelfth fragment’s imminent appearance!

“Pity… you no longer have a chance.” The person suddenly bit their tongue, spitting out a mouthful of black blood that turned into countless blood threads, wrapping around the twin hooks, actually forcefully breaking through her defensive formation!

As the hook blades were about to touch her forehead, a clear sword hum suddenly rang out!

A silver light slashed horizontally, directly severing the person’s right arm at the shoulder!

Bailu flipped in mid-air, her sword tip pointing directly at their heart: “One more step, and I’ll cut off your life.”

The person screamed, their figure retreating rapidly, turning into black smoke and fleeing into the depths of the snowy forest.

The battle ended quickly, but its aftermath lingered.

Old Chen trembled as he caressed the bronze casket: “They knew… they really knew…”

“Knew what?” Lin Xiaoman urgently asked.

Old Chen gritted his teeth, finally speaking: “Before Master died, he wrote a secret letter and hid it in this casket. He said that if one day the ‘twelve star tracks return to position,’ this casket must be opened, otherwise the Shideng will awaken on its own and devour all living beings for thousands of li.”

“What does that mean?” Bailu frowned.

“It means…” Lin Xiaoman slowly raised her head, looking towards the deep snowy plain to the north. “The Shideng never truly slept. It has always been waiting for the opportune moment, absorbing resentment and accumulating power. And all of us, including Mohua, Cheng Yanqiu, Tu Xiansheng… are just sacrifices for its revival.”

The three fell into a deathly silence.

After a long while, Lin Xiaoman gripped the compass, stating firmly: “Go, continue north. This battle cannot be given to anyone else.”

Half a month later, the three arrived at the edge of Beiyuan.

Before them was an abyss sealed by ten thousand years of ice, bottomless and radiating chilling cold. Countless fragments of ice crystals floated in the air, like stars fallen to earth. And directly above the abyss, an inverted ice palace hung conspicuously, supported by nine ice pillars, shaped like a blooming lotus.

“Is that… Shideng Hall?” Bailu was shocked.

“Yes,” Lin Xiaoman nodded. “Legend has it that Cheng Yanqiu took the first flicker of the lamp flame from here.”

She took out the compass, its needle vibrating violently, finally pointing steadily towards the center of the ice palace.

“The last fragment of the Zangxing Tu is inside.”

Old Chen suddenly knelt down, trembling as he opened the bronze casket.

A golden light shot into the sky!

Inside the casket was not a letter, but a flowing star map—seven-colored light points slowly rotated, gradually connecting with eleven other phantom images, finally forming a complete twelve-pointed star array!

At the same time, the sky dramatically changed.

The dark clouds split open, and twelve stars that should not appear simultaneously emerged one by one, forming a ring, slowly rotating around the North Star.

“The star tracks are in place…” Old Chen wept, “Master, you foresaw everything…”

Suddenly, a low rumble came from the depths of the ice abyss.

The entire ground began to tremble.

The inverted ice palace slowly descended, its nine ice pillars cracking and bursting, releasing an aura suppressed for a thousand years. An indescribable pressure spread out, almost forcing the three to kneel.

And in the deepest part of the ice palace, a faint blue flame quietly lit up.

Weak, yet eternal.

The Shideng had awakened.

“It’s coming out,” Lin Xiaoman gritted her teeth and stood up, quickly forming hand seals. “Prepare to activate the ‘Suoming Dazhen’; this is the last safeguard Mohua left for us!”

Bailu drew her sword to protect them, while old Chen held up the star map, chanting ancient incantations.

However, at this moment, several black figures swiftly approached from all directions!

More than ten people! Twenty people! All were Dengnu powerhouses with chaotic auras and distorted faces! Their eyes burned with a craving for life, a fear of death, and an insane obsession with changsheng!

“Stop them!” Bailu roared, her sword light crisscrossing, instantly slaying three people. But more surged forward, even willing to self-detonate their Golden Cores to approach the ice palace!

Lin Xiaoman fully activated the formation, but there were too many people, and the interference was too strong, the array patterns repeatedly breaking!

Just as the Shideng was about to break free, a gentle breeze suddenly arrived.

Immediately after, a sigh echoed through heaven and earth:

“You have contended your whole lives, but have you ever considered that changsheng was never meant to exist?”

Everyone turned their heads abruptly.

They saw a figure in a cyan robe slowly walking through the wind and snow. His face was blurry, his form semi-transparent, neither truly a soul nor a spirit.

It was Mohua.

“Teacher?!” Lin Xiaoman exclaimed.

“I am not dead,” the figure said faintly. “I merely merged my fate with the wheel of fate channel, becoming part of the seal. Now that the channel is completely closed, I can briefly return.”

He looked at the Shideng, his gaze complex: “This is my final duty—to extinguish it with my own hands.”

With that, he raised a hand.

The entire star map ascended into the sky, the twelve-pointed star resonating with the stars above, forming a beam of light that pierced through heaven and earth, striking the Shideng’s本体!

“No!!!” The demons roared, “We are unwilling!!!”

But beneath the light beam, all obsessions turned to ashes.

The Shideng flickered violently, its flame turning from blue to white, then from white to black, and finally, with a soft “puff,” it extinguished completely.

There was no explosion, no roar, only silence.

As if the entire world had let out a sigh of relief.

Mohua’s figure also began to dissipate.

“Teacher!!” Lin Xiaoman rushed forward but passed right through him.

He looked back and smiled, gentle as ever: “Don’t cry. Didn’t I tell you? I am not in changsheng; I am in every moment you remember.”

The wind rose, and locust leaves fell.

On the veins of a leaf, a new line of text appeared:

“Though this body perishes, faith does not die.
Changsheng is not in the lamp, but in the human heart.”

Everyone knelt, tears streaming down.

Several days later, Beiyuan was permanently sealed, guarded by heavy troops dispatched by the Law Enforcement Hall. Lin Xiaoman returned to Qianxue Zhou, publicly releasing the “Jiushu Zhenjie” and advocating “using formations to benefit the world,” no longer keeping it secret.

Ten years later, formation cultivation flourished throughout the land. Wherever there was an unjust case, there was a formation master holding talismans for investigation; whenever disaster struck, formations always protected the common people.

Thirty years later, the world no longer knew who Tu Xiansheng was, nor the name of the Underworld Lord; even the “changsheng lamp” became an ancient legend.

Only the eight-character inscription remained as clear as yesterday:

“Zhen Wen Changsheng, Wei Ai Busi.”

Every Qingming Festival, a locust leaf would drift with the wind, gently landing before the stele.

No one knew where it came from.

But everyone who picked it up would hear a sentence echo in their heart:

“Do you still remember?”